


Crimson and Gold

by glyphsbowtie



Series: Crimson [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-19 02:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13694838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphsbowtie/pseuds/glyphsbowtie
Summary: Jesse McCree is a failing newspaper editor whose life has been thrown into turmoil by the addition of Lord Hanzo Shimada, nobleman and vampire hunter. When debutante Angela Ziegler is attacked by a vampire in front of McCree, they are saved by Genji Shimada, a man with his own deadly secret. Suddenly, McCree's reality is dangerous and frightening...





	1. Vampire's Kiss

The sky is inky black, rich and beautiful, sprinkled with silver stars. Morning is a long way off, and the pavement is already frosted with deadly ice. Jesse McCree is bundled up in his greatcoat, a cheroot dangling from his frozen lips. Silently, he curses the fact that he hasn’t been able to afford the purchase of a new scarf. His worn boots tread silently across the ice as he makes his journey home from the newspaper offices.

 

He has been working late again. In the two weeks since the paper ran the sensationalist story about Lord Shimada, and then ran an apology the very next day, readership has risen a small amount. It is not enough, but it is promising.

 

Jesse wonders where Shimada is tonight, and blushes involuntarily in the darkness. He remembers the taste of Shimada’s brief kiss.  _ However, too much vampire hysteria around London will encourage them to be reckless. It puts me in danger.  _ McCree remembers Hanzo’s words with a shiver; even in the freezing, empty night, it is almost impossible to imagine that these words were true, and yet he can’t forget the scars on the nobleman’s beautiful neck.

 

A carriage rolls past. Jesse breathes his last from the cheroot and crushes it beneath his boot. The offices are a good thirty minute walk from his home, but it has always seemed pointless paying for any form of transportation. McCree has grown very used to living a frugal existence. No wonder Hanzo Shimada has not been in touch; what interest could a scruffy newspaper editor hold for a titled, handsome gentleman? Jesse laughs aloud at himself, reaching up to drag his fingers through the stubble on his face.

 

Ahead, around a corner, there is a loud crash and the squealing of horses. Jesse McCree freezes for only an instant before setting off at a run. A carriage crash in these icy conditions is hardly surprising, but could be incredibly dangerous.

 

A scream shatters the night. It is a sound filled with such dreadful terror that it makes the blood run cold in Jesse’s veins.

 

He rounds the corner, his boots skidding helplessly on the ice. In a small alley, the carriage has flipped onto its side. The horses lie dead, a surprising amount of blood coating their slick bodies. There is no sign of the coachman.

 

A figure in black is standing on the side of the carriage, his back turned to McCree, who watches as the stranger takes hold of the door and tears it off effortlessly, like a boy tearing paper. Something tight and icy knots in Jesse’s stomach, and he tries to shout out, but the words die in his throat.

 

The scream comes again; it is coming from the woman in the carriage. The stranger bends down and lifts her roughly, pulling her out into the moonlight. Jesse recognises her, but cannot remember her name; her face is twisted in terror as she looks up at the man who has her by the shoulders.

 

“Let go of her!” Jesse yells, finding his voice.

 

The stranger lets out an unnatural snarl, and to Jesse’s horror, he flings the woman roughly down to the ground, where she lies still. The man turns around. His black eyes are set in an ivory face. His chin is smudged with blood. An eerie smile twists his lips, revealing elongated fangs.

 

“Fuck,” Jesse mumbles, thinking suddenly of Hanzo. This is a vampire, and Jesse is not armed.

 

The creature leaps nimbly from the carriage, closing the distance between them with ease. It is wearing a ragged shirt and black trousers with no jacket. Jesse thinks ridiculously for a moment that it must be freezing before long, lethally strong fingers wrap around his throat. The creature is shorter than McCree, but that is clearly not going to make a difference.

 

“You should have kept walking,” it growls, with that terrifying smile.

 

Jesse chances a punch to the stomach. The creature grunts but its grip does not waver, and with its free hand it strikes Jesse across the face. The punishing blow makes Jesse see stars, and he feels the broken skin left by the thing’s brutal nails.

 

“Let go of him!” The woman has dragged herself to her feet. The creature turns to face her, its fingers still cruelly crushing McCree’s throat. Her green evening dress is filthy from the ground, and there is blood on her lip from her collision with the ground. Some of her yellow hair has come loose and is framing her face. “You wanted me,” she continues, her voice shaking. “You wanted my… my jewels, I presume, or…”

 

Surely it has to be obvious to her that it isn’t jewels this thing wants; it wants  _ blood _ .

 

“Get out of here, you little fool!” Jesse grinds out, the words painful and costing precious air.

 

The creature  _ laughs _ then, and it is the worst sound Jesse has ever heard. Those black eyes glitter gleefully, first at the woman, and then at Jesse. The fingers around his throat loosen suddenly and Jesse takes a deep, delicious breath of the frozen air before there is white hot pain.

 

The vampire has bitten him. Its jaws are locked onto his throat, those fangs lodged into his flesh. He is horribly aware of the blood being drained, and he pushes uselessly against the monster.

 

The woman throws herself at it, shrieking. Her arms wrap around its shoulders as she tries to drag it off Jesse’s throat. The vampire releases its jaw, and Jesse lets out a grateful whimper he will be ashamed of later. The vampire grabs the woman by her hair and throws her, face-first, against the side of the carriage. There is a horribly loud crunch and the woman is still.

 

“Don’t…” Jesse grinds out, and he takes a step towards her. His legs are weak and he stumbles to his knees. Helplessly, he reaches for her body, only for the creature to grab him by his hair and jerk him backwards, back towards those teeth…

 

“Wrexford!” A new voice fills the air. It is strong, loud and powerful. McCree struggles to see over his shoulder and makes out a dark-haired figure in a black cloak.

 

“Hanzo…” Jesse mumbles.

 

The vampire lets out a growl, and releases Jesse. The newcomer and the vampire are on each other, a blur of motion and blood. The vampire is thrown over the carriage, and the man leaps agilely over it, tackling the creature.

 

As the sound of their fight rages on, a symphony of growling and tearing, Jesse crawls over to the woman. She is small as he lifts her gently and feels for a pulse in her delicate throat. She is alive, but the pulse is weak. There is blood and the beginnings of a black bruise on her temple. A bloody gash crosses down one cheek, cutting across her eyelid.

 

The sound of fighting stops and there are brisk footsteps. The newcomer appears and squats down before them. It isn’t Hanzo, but this man has more than a passing resemblance to him. He has intense green eyes. Jesse, finally coming back to his senses, realises with an uncomfortable shiver that the fight with the vampire hasn’t even creased this man’s shirt.

 

“Does she live?” the man asks.

 

“Yes… but she is badly hurt,” Jesse replies, and the words come out weakly.

 

“As are you,” the man responds seriously, cocking his head and looking at the wounds on Jesse’s throat. “It is not wise for either of you to seek a doctor, although I won’t try to stop you if you wish it. I can help you.”

 

Something- some important knowledge about this man- is lurking on the edge’s of Jesse’s mind, but in his weakened state he cannot reach for it. All he can think of is Hanzo, and how this man reminds him of the nobleman. He finds himself nodding.

 

“My rooms are near here,” he manages to say. “We could go there.”

 

“An excellent idea, my dear fellow,” the man says, standing up lightly. “Can you walk?”

 

Even if he had lost a leg, Jesse would be far too proud to ask for help. He nods. “Of course. Yes. She cannot, though.”

 

The man bends down and lifts the woman in his arms, holding her bridal-style. He looks down at her ruined face for a moment and his eyes close briefly. Then he looks back at Jesse, who is pushing himself to his feet.

 

“Follow me,” Jesse says.

 

They make the short journey in silence, Jesse concentrating fully on not collapsing. Luckily, they do not encounter a soul in the street. They must make a grim tableau; an immaculately-dressed, handsome gentleman clutching a bloodied, unconscious lady in his arms, following a limping and injured newspaper editor. Jesse can feel blood flowing down from his throat. It is hot and sticky.

 

The building Jesse lives in is run-down and enormous. There are four floors, but nobody lives here apart from Jesse, who rents the top floor. He unlocks the door to the back staircase with trembling hands and they climb the stairs.

 

At the top, Jesse clutches onto the wall. The climb has taken the last of his energy, and he is ashamed when he stumbles to the floor. The gentleman sweeps past him into Jesse’s home. There is a soft thump as he places the woman down on the bed and comes back out for Jesse, lifting him with a strength that cannot be human.

 

Jesse is placed upon an armchair and allows his eyes to close for a moment. He hears the man muttering to himself.

 

“Please don’t hurt her,” Jesse says. He knows he doesn’t have the ability to protect her- or himself.

 

“You have my word as a gentleman,” the man responds. Jesse opens his eyes to see the man bending down by the fire. He moves his long fingers across the dry wood in the stove and a flame suddenly ignites there.

 

Jesse cries out. The man stands up and looks at him with inscrutable green eyes. He unfastens his cloak and drapes it across the cluttered desk before heading back to the bed. The orange glow from the fire casts a sickly light on the woman.

 

The man feels her throat, closing his eyes briefly.

 

“Don’t bite her,” Jesse says. He is losing a lot of blood. He touches his coat and his hand comes away wet. “Don’t make her take your blood.” He can’t remember where the words are coming from. Everything is hazy.

 

The man looks at him suddenly. His dark eyebrows are raised. “How do you know-?”

 

“You’re Genji Shimada,” Jesse manages. “You’re a vampire.”

 

Then he loses consciousness.

 

*

 

“How could you be so careless?” The quiet, angry words are hissed in a familiar voice.

 

Jesse opens his eyes. He is still in the chair, but his coat has been removed. He reaches up to his neck gingerly to feel a thick bandage on the wound. Whoever cleaned it-  _ Genji Shimada _ , he supposes- has removed his shirt as well. It is probably ruined.

 

“I hardly had a choice,” Genji snaps. The voices are coming from the hallway just beyond the door to Jesse’s home. “Wrexford slipped away from me. By the time I caught him with him, he had killed her horses and her coachman.”

 

“He would have killed her, too, if not for this man you apparently came home with.”

 

“I saved them both,” Genji replies, and the words are petulant.

 

“She can be convinced that the truth isn’t what she believes it to be. This man, on the other hand- your note said he knows what you are? Impossible. He was bitten. What are we to do about that, brother?”

 

There are footsteps and then, cast in the golden light of the fading fire, Hanzo Shimada steps into Jesse’s room. His dark eyes widen at the sight of the newspaper editor, who raises his hand in welcome.

 

“Jesse,” Hanzo breathes. He crosses the room and falls to his knees before the editor, reaching for his throat in a familiar way. One gloved hand curls around Jesse’s chin, tilting it out of the way, while the other one inspects the bandage.

 

“Lord Shimada,” Jesse says. He is suddenly very aware of the fact that he is sitting shirtless. He breathes in the scent of the nobleman, who is looking now into his eyes.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Hanzo whispers.

 

“Hardly your fault,” Jesse replies, then pauses. “Is it?”

 

Hanzo’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t respond.

 

“You know this man?” Genji asks, and Hanzo lets go of Jesse, springing to his feet.

 

“This is Jesse McCree, the newspaper editor to whom we both owe thanks.”

 

“Let’s skip these formalities,” Jesse says, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily. “I was bitten by a vampire. What is going to happen to me?”

 

“Nothing. You must take their blood, remember?” Hanzo replies gently. “You merely need to rest.”

 

“What about the girl?” Jesse asks, looking towards the bed.

 

She is lying beneath his threadbare quilt, half her face completely covered in white bandage. She is still unconscious. Her silky blonde hair fans out in a puddle on Jesse’s pillows.

 

“She will live,” Genji says in a thick voice, and Hanzo looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “The injuries she has on her face, though… I am uncertain if they will heal well.”   
  


“This is not your fault,” Hanzo says, but there is a lack of conviction in his words.

 

“Dawn approaches,” Genji sighs.

 

“You must take her to her home. Leave her where she will be quickly found. Press a memory into her- alter the truth. She was mugged. Badly injured. She cannot remember what happened after that.”

 

“You can do that?” Jesse asks, mouth agape as he stares at Genji. “Influence people’s minds?”

 

The young vampire doesn’t smile. “Did it not strike you as odd that you were so acquiescent last night? You led me home despite the fact I was clearly a dangerous man.”

 

McCree frowns, an icy sensation settling in his stomach. “Do you know where this woman lives?”

 

“This is Miss Angela Ziegler,” Hanzo says.

 

Jesse finally knows how he is aware of her; she is a debutante. The newspaper has mentioned her a couple of times.

 

“I will take her,” Genji says gently. He crosses the room and lifts her again. She doesn’t stir. Genji crosses to the desk and lifts his discarded cloak, which he drapes over the delicate woman. He walks over to the door before pausing and looking back at Jesse. “Mister McCree, I am in your debt,” he says, then vanishes into the darkness.

 

Jesse is painfully aware that he is now alone with Hanzo Shimada. His rooms look shabby and untidy in the firelight, and he blushes as he looks around. He has never invited anyone up here.

 

“I confess I am very relieved you are not more badly injured,” Hanzo says suddenly. Jesse looks back at him to see those dark eyes fixed on him, not on the state of Jesse’s living conditions. “I am so sorry you have been caught up in this.”

 

There are a thousand things Jesse wants to say, wants to ask, but all that comes tumbling out his mouth is, “I need a rum.”

 

“Yes- of course.”

 

Hanzo sweeps over the dusty sideboard and lifts a smeared bottle of rum, opening it and pouring a measure into a chipped glass. Jesse watches in agonising discomfort, unable to believe that this nobleman is serving him in his own home.

 

“You don’t have to- Lord Shimada-”

 

“We are past that, surely?” Hanzo smiles, offering the glass to Jesse.

 

Jesse looks down at the glass. His fingers tremble as he takes it from Hanzo. He feels like his world has been turned on its head, but standing in front of this man, he isn’t sure he minds.

 

“I’m glad to see you again,” he says honestly.

 

“I intended to visit you before now, I promise,” Hanzo replies. “It has been busy, though… they are testing me at the moment. Genji and I have had a lot to do.”

 

Jesse drains the rum in one mouthful. He is suddenly exhausted. Hanzo reaches out and places his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, steering him towards the bed.

 

“You must rest, Jesse,” he says.

 

“I have so many questions-”

 

“Of course you do,” Hanzo replies softly. “But you must sleep. I shall return this evening, if you wish? We can discuss everything then.”   
  


“This evening. Yes.”

 

Jesse lies down, sleep already tugging him into blessed oblivion. Hanzo squeezes his hand and smiles down at him. Words bubble up in Jesse’s throat but he is too tired to speak, and he closes his eyes.


	2. Cold Light Of Day

Shimada House is quiet when Hanzo enters in the pink light of early morning. The brothers keep a skeleton staff. The fewer people who know the truth about them, the better. Hanzo closes the door behind him and leans against it, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily.

 

“Sir, do you require anything?” Reyes asks, stepping briskly into the hall. Hanzo opens his eyes and shakes his head. Reyes is the head of staff here, and Hanzo’s trusted friend. He is a square, dangerous man with scars on his face from the fights he has been involved in against the undead enemy.

 

“Has Genji returned?”

 

Reyes frowns briefly. “Your brother is in his rooms. He is… not in a good way.”

 

Hanzo sweeps his cloak off and hands it to Reyes, clapping him gratefully on the shoulder before ascending the wide staircase. His whole body aches. He was at a ball last night before all the drama, and he needs to sleep.

 

He stops before Genji’s door, listening carefully. When he hears nothing, he knocks briskly and opens the door.

 

Genji’s room is pitch black; huge black sheets are pinned up at the windows to save him from the sunlight. In the light cast in from the hallway, Hanzo can see the dark, slumped shape of his brother sitting cross-legged on the bed. He clutches a bottle of rum.

 

“Close the door, will you, brother?” Genji asks in a thick voice. “Even a little sun makes my skin burn.”

 

Hanzo steps in and closes the door behind him, plunging them into darkness. For a moment, he cannot see anything, but his eyes adjust quickly these days, and he blinks at his brother. “Should you be drinking at this hour?” he asks mildly.

 

“What difference does it make?” Genji asks humourlessly. “It isn’t like I can actually get drunk.”

 

Hanzo sighs. “You can’t punish yourself for-”

 

“I can and I will,” Genji snaps. “Miss Ziegler is never going to heal well from that wound, and you know it. She was a beautiful young woman with a world of marriage prospects yesterday, and now she is…”

 

_ “Come, brother, don’t be so ridiculous,” Genji smiles, covering Hanzo’s shoulder with his hand. “You will have a brilliant time.” _

 

_ They are standing in the hallway outside the ballroom, listening to the sounds of music and laughter from inside. They often come to these events just to maintain appearances, but Hanzo has never enjoyed them. As a theoretically eligible bachelor- if one looks past the vampire hunting, which is admittedly not common knowledge- he finds himself inundated with giggling chits the moment he enters a ballroom. Genji, as the younger brother and heir to no title, is more free to pass the time however, and with whomever, he pleases. _

 

_ “Very well,” Hanzo sighs. _

 

_ They open the doors and enter. Dozens of pairs of eyes turn to them, and Hanzo cringes a little. He claps his brother on the back and heads for the drinks table, aware of hundreds of eyes burning into him. _

 

_ He takes a lemonade and sips it crossly. A girl with a tumble of dark hair passes him with a blush and a giggle, and he sighs. For a moment he thinks of Jesse McCree. _

 

_ His skin suddenly crawls on his neck, and he looks over to the shadows by the door to the terrace. A man stands in black, his eyes staring hungrily at the dancing. It is Wrexford, the vampire they have been tracking. _

 

_ He is watching Genji dancing with a beautiful, yellow-haired debutante in a green dress. He is grinning down at her, his handsome face relaxed. She laughs prettily at something he says. _

 

“You are correct. She will not heal. She is lucky to be alive.” Hanzo’s words are heavy. “But it is not your fault.”

“Don’t you see? If I had never danced with her… if I hadn’t lost their trail…” Genji takes a long drink. “If your friend- McCree- hadn’t been passing, she would have died before I arrived.”

 

Hanzo’s mind goes to Jesse, how pale and weak he had looked. A momentary flash of white rage grips him as he imagines Wrexford biting Jesse’s throat.

 

“I killed Wrexford before managing to get any information out of him,” Genji continues hopelessly.  “I was furious.”

 

“That’s understandable.” But problematic. Without a lead, the brothers are merely fumbling in the dark, fighting random vampires and trying to hold back the seemingly rising tide of monsters on the streets of London, without getting any closer to figuring out what is causing it.

 

There is a knock at the door behind them, and it opens to reveal Reyes. “We’ve just had word of the attack on Miss Ziegler, Sir.”

 

“We had best send some flowers,” Hanzo replies, and Reyes nods, turning to go.

 

“Wait- flowers?” Genji snaps. “Yesterday the poor woman will have had tokens and visits from dozens of men. Now, she will wake up to nothing but some flowers from disgusted well-wishers. We must visit her.”

 

“It may have escaped your notice, but you can’t leave the house during the day.”

 

“You can,” Genji says wildly. “Think about it- Lord Hanzo Shimada, an eligible bachelor by anyone’s standards, visiting her. That’s going to give her a boost. It will show other men that she is still desirable.”

 

Hanzo frowns. “Why are you so invested in this?”

 

“I am a monster, and I am responsible.” The words are sincere, but Hanzo suspects they are not the entire truth.

 

*

 

An hour later, desperately tired and longing for his bed, Hanzo climbs from his coach in front of the Ziegler’s home. He knocks politely on the door, and it opens to reveal a young maid. He smiles at her and hands her his calling card.

 

“Very good, Lord Shimada, Sir. Allow me to show you to the parlour.”

 

The house is small but well-presented. It is obvious to Hanzo that the Ziegler family, although not poor, are certainly not ridiculously wealthy. The parlour is pleasant, and he stands by the fireplace.

 

“Lord Shimada,” a woman says behind him, and he turns to see Mrs Ziegler enter. He knows of her, and has seen her at several balls, although they have never spoken. She looks like her daughter, her yellow hair greying at the temples. Her eyes are pink from crying. “Can I help you?”

 

“I have come to offer my assistance, Mrs Ziegler. I received word of Miss Ziegler’s injuries.”

 

She sighs. “My poor Angela. She is… she is not doing well. She appears to have been attacked right outside our home.”

 

“That is monstrous.”

 

Mrs Ziegler nods sadly. “I did not realise you had ever been introduced to my daughter, Lord Shimada.”

 

“Of course we have,” Hanzo lies smoothly. “She is a delightful creature.”

 

Mrs Ziegler starts to say something, then stops. “She is not well enough to receive visitors today, my lord, but you are welcome to visit her again tomorrow.”

 

“I shall. Please convey my best wishes.”

 

*

 

Jesse wakes up with a start. He sits up, his heart thundering in his chest, and for a moment he can’t quite work out why it is the middle of the day and he is in his bed, not the office. The itching, burning pain on his neck quickly reminds him.

 

There is a loud knocking at the door, and Jesse wonders if this is what awoke him. He is shirtless, still wearing the trousers he wore yesterday. Shakily, he climbs from bed, reaching for his worn red robe, which he wraps around himself. Hesitating for a moment, he grabs a knife from his small kitchen area, and crosses to the door.

 

“Who is there?” he yells.

 

“It’s Lena and Jamison, boss!” comes a female voice.

 

Jesse opens the door and stares out at his employees, who are standing bundled up in coats and scarves. Lena’s eyes widen at the knife he is holding, and he lowers his arm automatically.

 

“Sorry- wasn’t sure who was out there,” he says.

 

“You often need to stab people who knock on your door?” Jamison asks mildly.

 

Jesse shakes his head, standing to the side to allow them to enter. Neither of them has been here before, and he watches them looking around curiously. He feels sick. He supposes he really did lose an awful lot of blood last night.

 

“What happened to your neck?” Lena asks, suddenly staring at him. “And your face?”

 

Jesse remembers the crushing blow which had sliced his face open, and fingers the crusty scratch curiously. “I got… attacked. On the way home last night. Nothing to worry about.”

 

“You as well?” Jamison asks.

 

“As well?”

 

“Miss Angela Ziegler- the debutante. The whole city’s abuzz with it. She got attacked outside her home. Her whole face is ruined. But- and this is really weird- whoever did it bandaged her face afterwards.” Lena’s eyes are glowing.

 

“That’s why we came,” Jamison adds. “You weren’t in the office. We wanted to know if we should run the story.”

 

Jesse’s legs feel weak. He thinks about the young yellow-haired woman, how she had thrown herself at the vampire when it bit him. “Run it. But I want positives about the girl. Minimise this face-ruined aspect.”

 

Lena exchanges a surprised look with Jamison. “If you say so, boss.”

 

“I do say so,” Jesse says. He sits down on his chair. “I… I might not be able to make it in today.”

 

“I think that’s probably wise,” Jamison says. “You look bloody frightful.”

 

“Thanks, Fawkes,” Jesse returns, rolling his eyes.

 

“Do you need anything?” Lena asks, elbowing Jamison.

 

“No, thank you.” What Jesse needs is to be able to forget the truth- the horrifying, dizzying truth- about the vampires living in London. He thinks for a moment of the thing’s- Wrexford’s- long fangs and empty black eyes, and shivers.

 

Lena and Jamison leave, and Jesse crosses back to bed, sinking onto it and lying back against the pillows. Jesse has never been a coward, particularly, but then again, nothing particularly frightening has ever really happened to him. He is very aware of the fact that he has to make a choice about what sort of man he intends to be.

 

He thinks of Hanzo Shimada, the man who started all this for Jesse. He shivers when he remembers the brief kiss Shimada gave him. There is clearly an attraction between them, but it is ridiculous to have hopes about such a thing; Shimada is a nobleman, and will be expected to marry a woman and produce an heir eventually. He is also devilishly handsome and apparently a dangerous vampire hunter: in summary, he is far too good for a scruffy, impoverished newspaper editor like Jesse McCree.

 

And yet… and yet,he has promised to return tonight.


	3. Unrequited

Angela Ziegler has been in love with Genji Shimada for two years.

 

It started the first time she saw him. It was just before Christmas, and she was strolling in the park with her mother just after dusk, taking in the fresh air. It was before her first season, and her mother had decided it was wise to show her off. Angela was young, and not overly interested in marriage, but she went along with it, doing her best to pose prettily amongst the frost-covered branches.

 

The park was busy, and Angela was aware of the glances she attracted. It made her uncomfortable. They stopped occasionally as they walked to talk to friends of her mother. It was during one of these pauses, as her mother gossipped incessantly to a plump matron, that Angela first saw him.

 

He was standing by the frozen lake, maybe fifteen yards away. He was a small, narrow man, not overly tall, with shiny dark hair beneath his hat. His hands were thrust into his pockets, and he was staring at the surface of the lake with a contemplative expression. He wasn’t much older than she was, with a clean-shaven, handsome face.

 

He turned to her suddenly, as though he had felt her gaze. He had bright green eyes, beautiful and intense. He didn’t smile, not that time. Instead, he tipped his hat at her and strolled away.

 

And just like that, Angela was in love.

 

“There’s that Shimada man,” her mother clucked. “The younger of the two.”

 

“Unusual men, the pair of them,” the plump matron replied. “Lord Shimada is so rude and withdrawn at parties. They’ve been here for six months and by all accounts have made no friends.”

 

Shimada. Angela burned the name onto her heart.

 

And she is still in love with him. Two years later, they have barely exchanged more than a few words. He has danced with her twice; the first time was six months ago, at a summer soiree. He had asked her because he was bored, she suspects, but she had almost tripped over her feet in her enthusiasm.

 

The second time was last night.

 

Last night.

 

Angela comes to suddenly, sitting up, her nightgown plastered to her sweaty skin. She breathes in desperately, caught in a moment of agonising pain. Instinctively, her fingers go to her face, only to cover the soft bandage there. One of her eyes is covered.

 

Angela opens her mouth to scream.

 

“Please don’t,” comes a gentle voice from the window.

 

She looks over and there, perched like a cat on the narrow windowsill, framed by the inky blackness of the winter’s evening outside, is Genji Shimada.

 

“What-?” Angela has a million questions. Her brain is a confusing mess of images. She remembers dancing with Genji at the ball, happy and in love. Then there is the crushing sound of the carriage being overthrown, and a flash of dead, black eyes… a huge man with long brown hair and stubble trying to save her… then pain.

 

And now Genji Shimada, nobleman and the man she has rejected half of dozen proposals for, is perched in her window.

 

“I was supposed to get rid of those memories,” Genji says softly. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t- I didn’t want to take anything else from you. But I think you might be happier without them.”

 

He steps onto the floor gracefully, moving slowly. Those intense green eyes are burning into her. She is very aware of the swell of her breasts, visible in her nightgown, but she almost laughs at the absurdity of this. Her face is painful, probably ruined and covered in a bandage. He is hardly going to ravish her.

 

Unfortunately.

 

“Why are you here?” she asks, as he reaches her bed and sits down beside her.

 

His face is very close to her now. “Because this is my fault. I’m a monster, Miss Ziegler.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She tries to laugh, but there is something very  _ wrong _ here. The skin on her arms has erupted into goosebumps, and she doesn’t think it is simply because of the proximity of the man she adores.

 

“I’ve come to make you forget. I was selfish- I didn’t want you to. But you deserve better.” Genji Shimada takes her hand suddenly. His is cold and strong, surprisingly so, and she gasps at the contact.

 

“Forget what? The attack? How can you?” Angela blinks. “What was that man- that thing?”

 

“A vampire.”

 

She thinks of the fangs, and it doesn’t seem ridiculous at all. She mulls it over, then nods. “I believe you,” she says.

 

“I saved you,” he continues. “But it is my fault in the first place. He saw you dancing with me. He must have thought there was something between us.”

 

That stings, more than her face does. It takes a lot for her to maintain her composure. “How did you save me from a vampire?”

 

He sighs, looking down. A black curl of hair tumbles down onto his forehead. The urge to reach up and tweak it is overwhelming. She is reminded of the first time she saw him; the dejected look on his face, the way he had been hungrily staring at the surface of the ice, intensely, reflectively.

 

Reflectively.

 

“You’re a vampire,” she breathes.

 

He looks up, surprised. She wonders if she should feel fear, but as always around Genji Shimada, she merely feels an intense longing. She squeezes his fingers.

 

“I need you to forget all of this. You need to forget all of this,” he whispers, and his eyes are sad. “I can take it from you. It won’t hurt, Miss Ziegler.”

 

“Angela. Call me Angela.”

 

He smiles humourlessly. “It won’t hurt, Angela.”

 

And she believes that he is about to take this moment from her mind, remove it from her forever. Unbidden, a tear rolls down her cheek. The emotions within her are powerful and confusing, and she decides to simply give into them. “You will never make me forget you, Genji Shimada,” she says firmly, and then she leans forward, pressing her lips against his.

 

He is surprised; for a moment, he doesn’t react, but then he does all at once, his arms going around her shoulders and drawing her closer to him. He is freezing, bitterly cold, but his kiss is gentle and tender, achingly soft.

 

And then there is nothing.

 

*

 

Hanzo climbs the chipped, smeared steps up to Jesse McCree’s rooms- well, room, to be more accurate- shortly after the sun has set. He has slept for most of the afternoon, and is feeling a little more calm.

 

He reaches the door and knocks sharply on it, thinking for a moment of the night two weeks ago when he had knocked on the door of the newspaper offices. He had seen Jesse McCree before, of course- a man in Hanzo’s line of work sees everything- but when the enormous and dishevelled editor had opened the door, Hanzo had truly  _ seen _ him; seen the handsome face, the sparkling eyes, the deep laugh lines around his mouth.

 

The door opens, startling him out of this memory, and he finds himself looking up into the same face; it is a little grey, and there is a deep wound down one cheek, but Jesse McCree looks thrilled to see him.

 

“Lord Shimada, come in,” he says, in his deep, rumbling voice.

 

“Hanzo, please,” Hanzo replies, rolling his eyes and stepping inside.

 

Jesse is wearing a loose black shirt, open to the waist, revealing his surprisingly tanned and well-muscled chest, covered thickly in a blanket of soft-looking hair. He had been entirely shirtless this morning, but Hanzo had been unable to enjoy it then. Now, he allows himself a gratuitous glance before removing his coat.

 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, shivering a little in the cold air of Jesse’s home.

 

“Tired. Exhausted, actually.” Jesse smiles. “But I guess I can’t complain. Could’ve been a lot worse.” He gestures vaguely towards the two shabby chairs. “Sit down.”

 

“Thank you,” Hanzo replies, and sits. He glances around the room. It is cluttered and dusty, the home of a man who has very little and nobody to share it with.

 

“Sorry about this place,” Jesse says, sitting opposite him. He crosses his legs, the motion making the black trousers he wears strain against his thick thigh. Hanzo swallows. “Everything I have is in the business. It has never made much profit, and that’s been worse lately.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Hanzo means these words. There is something very special about Jesse McCree, something in him that reaches out to something deep in Hanzo.

 

Jesse shrugs. “It is what it is. Pointless complaining about it. Anyway, thank you for visiting me.”

 

“You are sure that you feel fine, just tired?”

 

Jesse tucks a strand of his thick brown hair behind his ear. “Physically, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Mentally… that’s a whole different thing.”

 

Hanzo nods. He remembers the day he had found out the vampires were real, the day almost three years ago when Genji, a mere boy of nineteen at the time, had come stumbling into their parlour covered in blood. “It is a lot to accept,” Hanzo says softly. “The knowledge changes your whole existence.”

 

“Why couldn’t Genji just take the memories from me, the way you suggested he did to Miss Ziegler?”

 

“It becomes more difficult when there is some sort of prior link. Memories are complicated. You already knew that Genji is a vampire, because I had told you, and we shared…” Hanzo thinks about their kiss. He still isn’t sure what compelled him to do so. “We shared a profound moment,” he says finally. “Genji may have been able to take the memories of last night from you, but ultimately they would have come back, tied as they were to your memories of our conversation.”

 

Jesse is blushing a little. It is remarkably endearing. He clears his throat. “I see.”

 

“What we must address now is your safety- that, and the safety of Miss Ziegler. There is no guarantee the vampires will not seek vengeance against you for your part in the death of Wrexford. Miss Ziegler remains safe while she is at home- the vampires cannot enter without permission- but if you are to venture outside, it may put you at risk.” The idea of Jesse coming to harm makes Hanzo grip the arm of the chair firmly.

 

“Tell me about Wrexford- why did he even go after the woman in the first place?”

 

“He was at the ball Genji and I attended last night,” Hanzo replies. “I saw him watching Genji dancing with the Ziegler woman. He obviously believed there was some tie between my brother and the lady- although he was wrong, of course. Genji has never spoken to her before, to the best of my knowledge.”

 

Jesse nods. “What next?”

 

Hanzo thinks there's something overly enthusiastic about the way Jesse asks, but he shrugs. “Honestly, I'm unsure. Wrexford was our best lead at finding their base. Now he's gone… Well, we need a miracle.”

 

Jesse looks at him intensely, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. He is close enough to touch, and for a moment Hanzo almost gives into the temptation. “I was thinking… I want to help you.”

 

“Out of the question.” Hanzo stands up. The thought of losing Jesse is too painful.

 

“I didn't do too badly against Wrexford, did I?”

 

“You were almost killed, you impulsive fool!” Hanzo snaps.

 

Jesse gets to his feet too, highlighting his sheer size; he is taller and wider than Hanzo, and right now he is a towering stack of masculine outrage. “How many times have you been almost killed, Lord Shimada?”

 

Hanzo bristles at the title and the tone, but stands his ground. “It's hardly the same,” he replies coldly. 

 

“How?” Jesse retorts.

 

Hanzo explodes. He reaches for the collar of Jesse's shirt, grabbing hold of it in both fists. “You know how! Are you really telling me you don't feel it between us, Jesse? It would crush me if anything happened to you!”

 

Jesse is stunned silent at the confession. Hanzo has stunned himself, too. He has never been given to outbursts of emotion.

 

“But-” Jesse stutters.

 

The confused look in his soft brown eyes breaks Hanzo. He lets go of the editor suddenly, taking a step back.

 

“Forgive me,” he manages. “I have assumed too much. I will see myself out.”

 

He reaches for his coat and heads for the door. He feels sick and empty, ashamed of himself.

 

“Lord Shimada- Hanzo, damn it, wait-!” Jesse shouts after him.

 

But Hanzo doesn't turn around.


End file.
